


Ouch

by Impala_Cherry_Trickster



Series: Merlin Prompts [26]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Bandits & Outlaws, Canon Era, Gen, Good Morgana (Merlin), Magic Revealed, Merlin is a Little Shit, Morgana Knows about Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Oblivious Arthur, Repression, of MAGIC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 11:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24470083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Cherry_Trickster/pseuds/Impala_Cherry_Trickster
Summary: It turns out that repressing Magic just makes it more likely to burst out.
Series: Merlin Prompts [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706692
Comments: 23
Kudos: 647





	Ouch

**Author's Note:**

> This was a tumblr prompt, enjoy :)

Repressing, as Gaius always told him, was not a good idea. Merlin, however, had a habit of always doing the things that his Uncle told him not to, because that just seemed like a better option. So, when his Uncle warned him that his Magic should not be restrained to such lengths, he ignored him. He had a Prattish Prince to serve, who them became an Idiotic King, with a habit of always getting into danger.

Still, it was nice to have Morgana on his side, even if she was a little hesitant about using her Magic to keep Arthur safe, instead of his own. Merlin hadn't had to use his Magic in such a long time, not now that he could inform Morgana of threats. Together, they had managed to get Arthur to the throne, a difficult task to achieve.

He did notice that his Magic had a habit of bursting up at random times. Like when he went to clean Arthur’s Chambers, and his Magic decided to do the chores for him. Or the time when Gwen tripped, and Merlin caught her without even moving a muscle. Luckily, Morgana had been rounding the corner, and quickly pretended it had been her gift that had saved their friend.

Keeping his Magic hidden meant he could stay at Arthur’s side, and although the man was a clotpole most of the time, and a dollophead the rest, he still needed protecting. Deep down, under the armour and the layer of snarky remarks that always came with the King, there was a good, honest man. Someone that would, hopefully, unite the lands of Albion. Or that was what Kilgharrah kept rumbling on about, while Merlin only vaguely listened.

He’d already proved he could change destiny, with Morgana by his side. His Magic hadn't helped there, it had just been him convincing her, showing her that she could be different. That when Uther was gone, Arthur would make a better King. Sure enough, he’d accepted her Magic, so who was to say he wouldn’t legalise it and make Albion once more a place where his kind were free?

The only issue with repressing his Magic, besides the random bouts of floating objects and catching falling Gwen’s, was that he was clumsier than usual. Which was saying something, when he could trip over air with his Magic, let alone without it. He would be less likely to dodge items Arthur threw at him, sometimes completely missed conversations, like shutting his Magic down had managed to also lower the abilities of his senses.

Which led to the current issue, a bandit attack nobody had been expecting. Least of all Merlin, who had been sitting by the fire cooking dinner for the Knights when the men rushed from the trees. Arthur had shouted for his men to grab their swords, while Merlin had promptly fallen from the log, and then had a decision to make.

They were clearly outnumbered, with very little hope of successfully managing to stay alive with the number of people that were rushing at them. Merlin hoped a little Magic might assist, but he was not expecting the tidal wave of energy that broke free the moment he unlocked the box.

It was a rush of everything, of the sounds of clashing swords, of men crying out in pain. The smell of blood and sweat, and the faint traces of pine underneath. Time seemed to slow, he could see every movement, every bandit that was currently trying to hurt his friends.

There was Elyan, with his sword drawn and ready to block a blow from a man with an axe. Percival, swinging his sword upwards, one foot on a fallen man. Leon, the strategic and calmest one, who looked terrified with three men running in his direction. Lancelot, hair plastered to his face, sword in his left hand while his right was gripped in the fabric of a man’s shirt. Gwaine, the cocky bastard, laughing even as his sword was hitting the bandit.

And Arthur, standing in the middle with the look of grim determination, of a man that had counted the number of attackers and knew their chances were slim.

Time started in the way it had stopped, a quick succession of everything happening at once. His energy burst, the trees rocking backwards and men skidding away in confusion, the leaves slamming outwards and dust kicking up.

He missed one bandit, Merlin realised, when he looked down to find a dagger in his chest. Arthur was shouting his name, the entire clearing seemed to have fallen silent, and the Warlock figured his eyes must have turned golden.

The bandit went from cocky, to terrified. The blood drained visibly, he rocked back, and Merlin looked to the dagger.

‘Ouch.’ It didn’t really hurt, he supposed it was a natural reaction, to respond to the pain he was expecting. When it didn’t come, he slowly reached for the knife, drew it carefully from his body. The blade was slick with blood, but the skin beneath patched up like he hadn't been stabbed, like it had been no more than a scratch.

‘Are you going to want this back?’ He questioned, glancing between the bandit, and the knife he was holding. The man took a step back, a very large one, and Merlin figured that was the answer. His hand stretched out, calling back the warmth that had rushed up after being caged for so long.

It answered his call, as he knew it would, toppling every bandit over. They dropped like stones, thudding to the ground in perfect unison, and Merlin felt the wave of exhaustion cross over him.

Apparently, tampering with his Magic, asking it to remain buried, and then expecting it to rush forwards on command, was not an easy task. His body ached, muscles protesting at the exertion, and he just about had time to turn to Arthur, before he realised his legs were about to collapse.

He probably meant to say something, like how sorry he was for all the lying, or that he hoped they could talk about this before Arthur had him banished or executed.

‘M’ gunna drop.’ Was what came out, and his legs buckled, leaving him to just about catch sight of Arthur’s lips forming his name as he went.


End file.
